


par avion

by Solovei



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Episode: s01e07 "Why've You Brought That?", Epistolary, F/F, Feelings, I just saw this episode and THE GAY SADNESS hit me like a ton of bricks, Love Letters, Might be OOC, No Plot/Plotless, One Shot, Pining, Scotland I guess, and I couldn't sleep or do anything else until I wrote this, inspired by that shot of Ann Walker at the windowsill in ep 7, the very ghost of Ann Walker appeared and forced me to open a new google doc, vague seaside environment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-19 16:14:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19136188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solovei/pseuds/Solovei
Summary: A letter, unsent.





	par avion

Dearest Anne,

Even though you are so far from me, I see you everywhere, always - a scrap of black fabric in the corner of my eye is enough to make my heart flutter thinking you have come to take me away. 

I hear you in the cries of the seagulls, in the rush of the waves. Every sound carries your timbre, every tone carries your pitch, echoes that have made their home in my ears. I’ve come to cherish those echoes, seek them out when the noise of the household becomes too much, when the voices creep out of their dark corners at night. I reach for the echoes of the sea, and I know that somewhere you are hearing them too. 

I would catch my reflection in the mirror and find myself looking through it to the other side, trying to see the person you saw, trying to find the person I know I can be when we are together. She seems so far away now, some days it is a wonder she ever existed. There are days when my own body feels equally far away, as though I’ve left it behind at Crow Nest, with you in my bed and the morning sun making itself at home on your pillow. I wonder if I shall ever feel such warmth coursing through my body again, or if perhaps I have become frozen solid to my core. I try to appear at dinner as instructed, and play with the children, but I find myself as hollow as an automaton, devoid of all feeling or joy. 

Lately I have found a small reprieve in drawing, as the landscapes here are quite a departure from what I have been seeing in Halifax. Much as I attempt to focus on the still lifes, time and time again your likeness comes to me in my mind’s eye. I see you when I close my eyes and when I awake, and even though my dreams are horrid, wretched things, some small part of me is glad to see your face appear in them nightly. 

I pray I will be well enough to return to Crow Nest soon.

Yours, A. W.


End file.
